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THE 



CHRYSALIS 



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A l00k 0f f 0^mB 



LOGAN P. MARTIN 

FEDERAL PRISONER 

ATLANTA. GA. 

1915 




Class -t^h.^^,^^ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



THE CHRYSALIS 

BY 

Logan P. Martin 

FEDERAL PRISONER 



Publisher 
J. J. o'donnell 

ATLANTA, GA. 



Note— To avoid complications with the prison rules, kindly 
address all communications, relative to this volume, or the Author, 
to the Publisher. 



Tf)3' 



OPYRIGHT, 1915 
BY 

J. J. O'DONNELL 



/, 



JUL -6 i9l5 

ICI.A401647 



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The poems herein contained were written under difficulties 
known only to those who have been similarly situated. My sur- 
roundings, as may be easily imagined, have not been very inspira- 
tional. The inconstancy of all others but serves to make the 
constancy of the Muse more keenly appreciated; and it is to 
this constancy that I owe what I now offer to the public. 

The Author. 



J3ebkafian 



IN A SPIRIT OF DEEP APPRECIATION, I BEG TO DEDICATE 
THIS LITTLE VOLUME TO ALL OF THOSE OF FREEMAN'S 
ESTATE, AS WELL AS PRISONERS EVERYWHERE. 
THESE POEMS HAVE BEEN WRITTEN IN THE SOL- 
ITUDE OF A PRISON CELL. THEY ARE OF 
LITTLE OR NO LITERARY VALUE, BUT IF 
READ IN THE SPIRIT IN WHICH THEY 
WERE WRITTEN, THEY MAY DI- 
VERT, IF NOT EXALT, THE 
MIND OF THE READER. 

THE AUTHOR 



CliJ? Clir^salts 



PUBLISHER'S NOTE. 

I was asked by the author-philosopher, federal pris- 
oner, Logan P. Martin, to select an appropriate name 
for this book of poems. His triumph from his sordid 
condition led me to think of the butterfly that comes 
radiant from the ugly cocoon, and I chose the title: 

''THE CHRYSALIS." 

In looking over the manuscripts I could scarcely 
realize the fact that they emanated from that city-of- 
the-living-dead — a prison. When one reads beautiful 
verse, he naturally thinks of it as issuing from ])eauti- 
ful sources, charming surroundings, inspiring scenes 
and circumstances. That a nmn with only the liare 
necessities of life, shut away from every good force, 
crushed down into utter oblivion, should rise from 
the ashes of his shattered life and give to the world 
such exalted and exalting thoughts as these poems 
contain, is beyond doubt proof that the soul of nmn 
has depths unfathomable, powers indestructible. In 
undertaking the publication of this volume, I do not 
so much serve the prisoner, as honor myself. 

A great thinker was asked to what he attributed 
his success. He immediately replied ''Adversity"; 
and if adversity is an incentive to a thinker, then Mr. 
Martin should look forward to a most successful ca- 
reer, for he has walked hand in hand with adversity 
for many years. Though the circumstances under 
which these poems were written would be sufficient 
to rouse curious interest in them, I commend them to 
the public solely on their merits. They are the ut- 
terances of a soul undismayed. 



APPRECIATIVE 



The publisher of this little volume wishes to acknow- 
ledge in behalf of the author-philosopher, federal pris- 
oner, Logan P. Martin, the courtesy of Byrd Print- 
ing Company for furnishing the book at actual cost. 
Thanks are also due Mayor James G. "Woodward, 
for his offering; Rev. Cary B. AVilmer, who gladly 
wrote the Introductory: Rev. Dr. John E. White, the 
Foreword; and Dean John R. Atkinson, and Rabbi 
Dr. David Marx, for their letters. Especially cordial 
acknowledgment is due the following gentlemen who. 
from the goodness of their hearts, made the book 
possible by guaranteeing the payment of its pro- 
duction : 



Mr. W. V^'oocls White. 

Rev. Richard Orme Flinn, Pastor, North Avenue Presbyterian 
Church. 

Rev. Dr. John E. White, Pastor, Second Baptist Church. 

Rev. Dr. Dunbar H. Ogden, Pastor, Central Presbyterian Church. 

Rev. Dr. ,T. Sprole Lj'ons, Pastor, First Presbyterian Church. 

Rev. Dr. H. M. DuBose, Pastor, First Methodist Church. 

Rev. Dr. Luke Johnson, Pastor, Grace Methodist Church. 

Rev. Dr. Hugh Harris, Pastor, Wesley Memorial Church. 

Rev. Dr. A. R. Holderby (retired), Pastor, Presbyterian Moore Me- 
morial Church. 

Rev. Father P. McOscar, S. M., Pastor, Church of the Sacred 
Heart. 

Rev. Dr. L. O. Bricker, Pastor, First Christian Church. 

Rev. John R. Atkinson, Dean, St. Philip's Cathedral. 

Rev. Dr. J. L. White, Pastor, Tabernacle Baptist Church. 

Rev. A. H. Gordon, Pastor, Ponce de Leon Baptist Church. 

Rabbi Dr. David Marx, Minister, Jewish Temple. 

Mr. Max Oppenheim, Editor, Georgian Deutsch Zeitung. 

Mr. Luther B. Rosser, Attorney-at-Law, Grant Building. 

Mr. Robert B. Troutman, Attorney-at-Law, Healey Building. 

Mr. C. N. Anderson, Attorney-at-Law, Hurt Building. 

Mr. Eugene C. Callaway, President, Metropolitan Trust Co. 

Mr. J. M. Grossman, Manager, American Special Sales Co. 

Mr. J. V. Boehm, Special Agt., Union Central Life Insurance. 

Dr. Marion McH. Hull, Physician, Grand Building. 

Mr. W. J. Govan, Cigar Dealer, South Pryor Street. 

Mr. A. P. Norman, Auditor, Western Union Telegraph Co. 

Mr. Wm. S. Witham, President, Farmers Trust Co. 




James G. Woodward 



The aim and object of publishing the little book of 
poems entitled The Chrysalis, I deem most worthy; 
and judging from the contents T believe, wherever 
the volume goes, it will bless mankind. 

James G. Woodward, 

Mayor of Atlanta, Ga. 




Rev. Dr. Gary B. Wilmer 



INTRODUCTORY 



The primary piui^ose of this little book is, through its sale, 
to raise a fund wherewith the author may start life anew after 
his release from the Atlanta Federal Prison. 

I am informed that with him '^writing is rather a diver- 
sion"; that "he has never been schooled in writing, and has 
not received so much as a penny for his work in that line of 
endeavor. His serious work while pencilling the matter herein 
contained was doing penal servitude, cutting stone in the stone 
sheds of the Federal Prison." 

Perhaps 1 may be pardoned for relating a personal incident 
explaining how I happened to become acquainted Avith Mr. 
Martin's writing and interested in the writer. A little more 
than a year ago, in the spring of 1914, I had been thinking of 
my Easter sermon. 

Easter, as the Festival of our Lord's Eesurrection, we 
rightly regard as a joyous occasion. But as the brightest light 
casts the darkest shadow, whenever an obstacle intervenes, so 
here. The Eesurrection of our Lord has as its background His 
Crucifixion; and that means sin. Moreover, just because the 
Eesurrection was the King's being ^'established" as King of 
men. His ' ' making good ' ' in common parlance, this means that 
the present-day rejection of the Eisen King is sin worse than 
the original Crucifixion. 

And so with ''the shadow of Easter" in my mind, it 
chanced, or it came to pass, at any rate, that my eye fell upon 
the following poem in the columns of the Atlanta Constitution: 

FEOM A PEISON CELL. 

There is no hour so dark, so black, 
As that which turns the memory back 
To scenes and deeds we thought we had 
Forever buried with the dead. 

A thing once done can never die; 
It boots not how serene the sky 
May spread and smile above our head; 
A thing once done is never dead. 



The best way to undo the deed 

That makes our heart and conscience bleed, 

Is just to look above and say, 

I will pursue a better way. 

A man, no matter how debased. 
Or low, or fallen, or disgraced. 
Can rise above his yesterdays. 
By deeds today all men must praise. 

One thing we never must forget; 
We owe all mankind the debt 
Of service and of friendship true; 
Who pays this debt must live anew. 

And this his high record shall be — 
A freeman of eternity. 
By Logan P. Martin, Inmate of Atlanta Federal Prison. 

The above poem so evidently proceeding from the author 's 
own inner soul life, and not being the product of imagination 
or sentimentality, made so deep an impression upon me that I 
used it entire in my Easter morning sermon, and naturally 
became interested in the other literary work of the same 
writer, but most of all in the man himself. 

The writer of these lines is not in any sense a literary 
critic, and makes no attempt to appraise these poems as to 
their literary value ; but he begs to call attention to the general 
fact, and the significant fact which appears here and there, 
that Mr. Martin's incarceration has had the effect of throwing 
him in upon himself ; in other words, has given him an oppor- 
tunity which comes to many men through prison walls of many 
kinds, but of which he has availed himself in an unusual degree. 

The following quotations will illustrate my meaning: 

FROM ' ' SOLITUDE. ' ' 

The angels of the thought world come 
And deign to make with me their home; 
Converse with me in language rare 
That makes my life a heaven here. 

I see what they can never see. 
Who pass their time in city throngs; 
And free as they can never be, 
To sing the world's eternal songs. 



FEOM ' ' IMAGINATION. ' ' 

The prisoner, forgot, alone, 

Where friendship's voice is never known, 

By thy assistance, quits his den. 

And breathes sweet Freedom's air again. 

FROM ''HEART OF HEAVEN." 

O, heart of heaven, breathe on me 
Thy fragrant breath of purity; 
Chasten my soul and make of me 
A freeman of eternity. 

The question of the vahie of these sentiments or of their 
mode of expression from a purely literary point of view seems 
to me quite impertinent when compared with their valu© as 
witnessing to the power of a soul made free. They bring fresh 
testimony to the fact that ''stone walls do not a prison make, 
nor iron bars a cage"; and that "the mind is its own place, 
and in itself can make a heaven of hell; a hell of heaven." 

This leads me to mention the author 's views of prison man- 
agement, wliich are embodied in an essay in this volume, and 
which have been published from time to time in Good Words, 
the paper published in the Federal Prison, and have attracted 
the favorable attention of such able and discriminating maga- 
zines as The Outlook, edited by Dr. Lyman Abbott. 

I may call attention t(7 the following two quotations from 
' ' Rhyme and Reason ' ' : 

"When we put men in prison they should be put there be- 
cause they cannot be trusted with freedom, not because of re- 
taliation and a desire for revenge"; also, "Going to prison 
does not degrade a man, it only publishes his degradation. ' ' 

I most earnestly add my wish to that of Mr. Martin's 
other friends that this volume may find a sale which wdll ma- 
terially aid him in his laudable ambition of usefulness in life, 
and also spread abroad ideas which cannot fail to be a blessing 

to others. 

C. B. WILMER, 
Rector St. Luke 's Episcopal Church, Atlanta, Ga. 
May 13, 1915. 




Dr. John E. White 



FOREWORD 



'^Two men looked through prison bars; 
One saw mud, the other saw stars.'' 

The readers of this lovely little book Avill come into 
fellowship with a man who> had the opportunity to 
"see mud," but who won his soul's emancipation be- 
cause he looked for the stars. It will help you to 
visit his observatory and see the stars through his 
eyes. He will teach you to study the stars for your- 
self and to kick the mud triumphantly from your feet. 
For we are all in prison somehow. Life's barriers of 
sin and sorrow and death shut every man in. There- 
fore, this book is a good book for every man. It is a 
rare and exquisite poesy, being free-hearted and sin- 
cere. We, who have never seen the author, would call 
him our "Brother Martin," and wish him mighty 
well for all his days. 

John E. White, D. D. 



AN INTERESTING MAN. 

The author of this book is an interesting man. He 
has done something wrong; that makes him interest- 
ing. He confesses his guilt. A confession is always 
interesting. Sinners as we are, we wonder what evil 
the other man has done. We listen, or we read with 
interest, but better still, we note that the author has 
learned, or is learning, by ''means of evil that good 
is best." This book is a product of that experience, 
and by happy choice in its title suggests how "out of 
evil good may come." Instead of being a condemna- 
tion of penal confinement, it is an able defense of it. 
The prison has been a means of grace ; solitude has 
turned the man's thoughts inward; leisure has given 
rein to his imagination ; reflection has lent its aid and 
given to fancy atmosphere and wings. He soars to 
higher things. 

With all these elements of interest. The Chrysalis 
goe;-^ forth with a message to struggling men. It is 
not a tract or a history, ])ut a lyric poem, telling of 
what one man has thought and wrought. Out of his 
suffering he is able to sing a song of hope and faith 
and courage. Others, more fortunate, but bearing 
each his cross, may be inspired by this example and 
say, "What man has done that man can do again." 

It is the old lesson newly told — out of darkness 
comes light ; out of error — truth ; out of death — life ; 
out of pri'-on — freedom and righteousness. 

Let us trust that the man who teaches has lea rued 
his lesson and can use his freedom nobly. 

Better than the book is the man behind the book. 



Let us wait and see what he can make of his life. He 
has made so much out of defeat and l)itterness. we 
look with interest to see what he \nll make of joy 
and gladness. 

An elder prisoner spoke of "fighting a good fight, 
running the course and of keeping the faith." This 
sentiment, a modern writer has turned into verse. 
Let us quote a poem to a poet and make it our God- 
speed : 

"Look up and not down; 
Look forw^ard and not hack; 
Look out and not in, and lend a hand. ' ' 

John R. Atkinson, 
Dean of St. Philip's Cathedral, 

Atlanta, Georgia. 



A TRIBUTE FROM RABBI DR. DAVID MARX. 



Here is a man who has heard God's song in the 
night. Deprived of physical liberty, he has dared 
lift np his eyes to the mountains and has found in 
their loftier altitude that Help which pushes back 
nocturnal darkness and doubt, and bathes all life in 
light and joy. He sings in prison. His appeal is to 
that which is best in man. Experience has not em- 
bittered him. Nay, rather, it has ennobled him. It 
has given him a philosophical attitude towards the 
evils that befall. Like Epictetus of old, he, too, has 
refused to surrender that freedom of the soul which 
is man's rarest and noblest possession. For such men, 
prisons of stone and steel compel the thought how 
best to live so that their companions may catch the 
inspiration : 

"Within, within, deliverance must be found; 
Each one, his prison makes." 

We welcome this little book of verse, flung red hot 
from the soul-forge of one who, while in prison, has 
emancipated himself. It is a message to his; fellow- 
men outside the walls. A perusal of its pages raises 
a mighty question : 

"Who is a prisoner; 
Who is really free?" 

David Marx, 
^ Minister to The Jewish Temple, 

Atlanta, Ga. 



Help the Other Fellow 

— Henry Ford 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



The Chrysalis, Cover Design. 

Hon. James G. Woodward, Mayor of Atlanta 13 

Rev. Dr. Cary B. Wilmer 14 

Rev. Dr. John E. White 18 

His First ' ' Pinch " 45 

Little May 50 

The Spirit of the Prisoner 90 

Uncle Sam to Society— What Shall We Do with Him? 97 



CONTENTS 



I. SONGS OF THE HEAET. 

PAGE 

Beside the Sea 33 

Christmas Eve in Prison 34 

Woman 's Love 34 

Where Have They Gone ? 35 

Lines to a Roach 36 

There 's a Rose in tlie Garden for Baby 37 

Toilers 38 

My Baby Girl 39 

Lonise 40 

11. SONGS OF LIFE. 

Take Me Back 43 

From a Prison Cell 44 

Beneath the Stars, Lonise 4G 

Gladness 47 

Easter 48 

Baby Has Come ' 49 

Little May 51 

A Song of the Sonth 55 

Memoriam — Virginia 57 

Alone : Yet Not Alone 59 

Qneen of Atalanta 62 

Winter and Spring — A Prose Poem 64 

Rhyme and Reason 67 

IIT. SONGS OF THE SOUL. 

Maxims 71 

Look Again 72 

Solitnde 73 

The Heart I Love 74 

Social Selfishness 75 

Imagination 76 



PAGE 

Washington 78 

Duality 79 

Evidences of God 80 

Heart of Heaven 81 

Maude Mining 81 

Consciousness 83 

Thoughts 84 

A Visitation of Angels 85 

Mother 86 

We May Not Know 87 

Ye Stars — An Invocation 88 

Noble Deeds 89 

AN ESSAY IN FOUR PARTS. 

The Prisoner— Part 1 91 

His Past— Part II 92 

His Present— Part III 94 

His Future— Part IV 96 

Philosophical Paragraphs 100 

Ehyme and Reason 103 



I.-SONGS OF THE HEART 



POETRY TODAY. 



A few years ago no poets were worth knowing but 
the dead poets. It was the prevailing idea that mod- 
ern English poetry gave up the ghost when Browning 
and Tennyson died. All poetical currents were sup- 
posed to be dammed forever. To be sure, men and 
women went on writing verse, but they Avrote only in 
a minor way, and would never be able, according to 
the universal superstition, to write otherwise. Poetry 
was not merely a neglected art. It was a lost art, a 
dead art, and few% indeed, were brave enough to at- 
tempt to controvert the hosts of critical Jeremiahs 
who vowed that it was impossible of resurrection. 

Poetry, however, did not die with the death of any 
one poet. It cannot die. Its very essence is life. Its 
form and expression are immortal. It may, like any 
art, suffer a lapse of energy, or show a temporary 
lack of vitality, but anyone who has watched the 
progress of time through literary epochs knows that 
poetry is always alive and always certain to revive 
after periods of depi-ession with increasing vigor. Its 
history is not a continuous history of uninterrupted 
and conspicuous triumphs. It is a record of names 
great and small, of eras in which Chaucer, Shakes- 
peare, Dryden, Shelley, and all the rest are inter- 
spersed with others who were no less poets because 
they lacked supreme greatness. But poetry did not 
die, and will not die when any of its great men in any 
era cease to write. 



The present moment, however, is one to encour- 
age every lover of jooetry, and one that will convince 
us all of its vitality even in so sternly materialistic 
an age as ours. We are in the midst of a revival of 
poetry. Interest in it was never greater and more 
earnest, and this interest is in itself evidence of 
achievement. Criticism of poetry is as active as is 
poetry itself, and in England and America are living 
and writing many men and w^omen upon whom the 
eyes of those who are looking for creative and imag- 
inative genius are centered. If we pick up any maga- 
zine we are certain to find in it at least one poem of 
permanent value; if we go to the bookstore or the 
public library we shall have offered us any number 
of recently issued volumes that prove their worth by 
a mere glance at their contents ; if we enter into con- 
versation with those who follow the course of modern 
English literature we shall find recurring again and 
again the names of many modern poets. In fact, the 
discussion of poetry seems to be usurping the place 
not long ago given to the novel. 

Who are these poets? Why should we mention or 
enumerate them? They are on every tongue, and the 
slightest word about modern poetry suffices to bring 
them to mind. — Boston Transcript. 



THE CHEYSALIS 33 



BESIDE THE SEA. 



I .sat l)eside the sea one day, 

Beside the sounding sea, 
And watched the sunbeams idly phiy 

Upon the silver sea ; 

And wished that I myself could be 
As bright and free as they. 

I sat beside the sea one night. 

Beside the surging sea. 
And watched the moonbeams' dancing light 

Far o'er the mystic sea; 

And washed again that I coukl be 
As free as they and bright. 

And as I wished, I slept and dreamed 
Beside the tranquil sea. 

And things were not as they had seemed 
Beside the glassy sea. 
For while I slept I too was free 

As any star that beamed. 



34 THE aUBYSALIS 



CHRISTMAS EVE IN PRISON. 

'Tis Christmas Eve. 
I sit and listen to the sleet, 
Blown by the wdncl, my windows beat, 
Yet cannot leave. 

The world outside 
Is happy, light, and glad, and gay; 
Nor thinks not, knows not, of the way 

I here abide. 

No Santa Claus 
Comes w^here I soon shall sleep 
And dream, and wake, and weep ; 

But near me Jesus draws. 

No tongue can tell 
The comfort He alone can bring. 
I rise triumphantly, and sing, 

Deep in my prison cell. 



WOMAN'S LOVE. 

"When once a spark of love divine 

Falls in the heart of womankind, 

'Tis apt to burn so long. 

And grow to be so strong. 

That all the powers of earth and hell combined. 

Cannot dislodge such holy love enshrined. 



TUE CUIUS J LIS 35 



WHERE HAVE THEY GONE. 



Edith, Avitli the soft brown eyes, 
Glowing as stars in distant skies, 
Is gone — 
And I, I am left alone. 

Ethel, Nature's own sweet child, 
Is gracing some far distant isle. 
Gone — 
While I, I am left alone. 

Mabel, fair as an Orient dream. 

Who, in all hearts reigned all supreme, 

Mabel is gone — 

But I, I am left alone. 

Jennie, Avith eyes of wondrous blue, 
Jennie, with rosebud mouth of dew, 
She, too, is gone — 
While I, I am left alone. 

Lillian, with the hair of gold. 
Finer than poet ever told. 
Fair Lillian's gone — 
Yet I, I am left alone. 



3G THE CEBYSALIS 



LINES TO A ROACH. 



There is a timid little roach, 

That comes to see me every day. 

He's veiy shy in his approach, 
But that, I think, is just his way. 

He is the only friend I have, 

And I appreciate him so, 
That when he takes his daily leave, 

It makes me sad to see him go. 

He plays at will alwnt my feet, 
And seems to feel no fear that I 

Shall ever be so indiscreet 
As wilfully to harm a fly. 

He sometimes crawls upon my knee. 
As though he fain would cheer my heart, 

But gaining no response from me. 
His tiny feet in haste depart. 

0, little creature of that Mind, 

That made all creatures here below. 

In you His likeness I may find, 
In you His life and image glow. 



TBE CH ins ALLS 37 



THERE'S A ROSE IX THE GARDEN FOR BABY. 



There's a rose in the garden for baby; 

It was born last night in the dew. 
It is tender and sweet and fragrant. 

Bnt no more so my bal)y than you. 

Its petals are soft as the zephyrs 
That stream from the valleys below. 

But the lips of my baby are softer 
Than all the sweet zephyrs that l)low. 

It's as dreamy as Orient moonl)eams, 
A thing that all lovers must love. 

But the eyes of my baby are dreamy 
As the light of the stars from above. 

This rose is the gem of the garden 
That shnnbers close dow^i by the sea. 

And mamma will bring it to baby. 
As the angels lu'ought l^aby to me. 



One has but to read the daily papers to discover 
that the race of fools is still flourishing. Let him who 
reads this form his own conclusions. 

Be careful how you do denounce 
A thing ])ecause the papers do ; 

Some papers ''yellow'" are as Bounce; 
Don't 1(4 them change your color, too. 



38 TBE CHEYSALIS 



TOILERS. 



The toilers of the fields go forth 

To sow, and till, and reap; 
And bless the world with double worth — 

Themselves, and others keep. 

The toilers in the field of thought 

Go forth at morn and eve. 
They, too, have labored and have wrought 

That others might receive. 

No man, who's worthy of the name. 

Will turn from him away. 
Who's weak and worn, and sick and lame. 

And helpless in the fray. 

We are a common brotherhood. 
And each should work for all, 

That in our strength of true manhood 
The weakest may not fall. 



Charity, when administered by its own hand, is 
a sweet morsel, but when administered l)y the hand of 
hirelings, 'tis a bitter pill. 

However homely be the face 

Of any man or woman here. 
If charity their hearts doth grace. 

Their presence brings the angels near. 



TBE CHEYSALIS 89 



MY BABY GIRL. 



1 know a dainty little girl, 

With l)ig blue eyes and golden hair ; 

With teeth just like two strings of pearl, 

And dimpled cheeks, as roses fair. 

To me, this child is all in all : 

The light of, what was once, my home, 
Her spotless hands, divinely small, 

Are beck'ning now for me to come. 

Ah, me, this charming little Miss, 
Who so absorbs my every thought, 

Must never know just why it is 

Her outstretched hands avail her naught. 

She knows that I've been gone for long, 
And that I have not once returned; 

And thinks, perhaps — for she 's so young — 
That her devoted love is spurned. 

That day will be a happy day, 

That swings ajar this ponderous door. 

And starts me on my homeward way, 
To see my baby girl once more. 

Yes, just to hold my child again 
Within my arms, and kiss her oft' — 

Whose lips are yet without a stain; 
Whose little hands are yet so soft. 



40 THE CHRYSALIS 



This living hope doth more than pay 
Me for long years of bitter sorrow; 

Doth make life's way a brighter way, 
And tint with gold each new tomorrow. 



LOUISE. 



When I am tired, and worn, and weak, 

And difficult to please, 
If I can but one moment speak 

With beautiful Louise, 

I'm rested and am strong again, 

And cured of my disease. 
Am free from every ache and pain. 

Redeemed by fair Louise. 

There is no other antidote 

So with my soul agrees. 
As just one charming little note 

From my divine Louise. 

Her happy smiles and laughing eyes 

So on my fancy seize, 
That I am caught to Paradise 

When I am with Louise. 

All pleasures found on land and sea, 

Do little but displease, 
If I cannot among them see 

Mv o^lorious Louise. 



II.-SONGS OF LIFE 



TBE CHEYSALIS 43 



TAKE ME BACK. 



Take me back to the olden days, 

Back to the golden days, 
When I was a boy with my l)rothers ; 

And played on the sunny mead 

Down by the Runnymede, 
And joyed in the love that was mother's. 

Take me l)ack to the wildwood, 

The scenes of my childhood; 
Back where the sun ever beams, 

To the time of my youthfnlness, 

Age of pure truthfulness, 
Hours of my boyhood dreams. 

When the moments grew dreary, 

And I was a-weary 
With boyish delights and play ; 

Beneath the green willow 

On the grass for a pillow, 
T dreamed the bright hours away. 



44 THE CHBYSALIS 



FROM A PRISON CELL. 



There is no hour so dark, so black, 

As that which turns the memory back 

To scenes and deeds we thought we had 

Forever buried with the dead. 

A thing once done can never die ; 

It boots not how serene the sky 

May spread and smile above our head; 

A thing once done is never dead. 

The best way to undo the deed 

That makes our heart and conscience bleed 

Is just to look above and say : 

I will pursue a better way. 

A man, no matter how debased. 

Or low, or fallen, or disgraced. 

Can rise above his yesterdays, 

By deeds today all men must praise. 

One thing we men must not forget : 

We owe all mankind the debt 

Of service and of friendship true — 

Who pays this debt must live anew, 

And this his high record shall he — 

A freeman of eternity. 



THE on ins A LIS 



45 




HIS FIRST "PINCH" 
With acknowledgment to American Sunday Magazine. 



46 THE CHRYSALIS 



BENEATH THE STARS— LOUISE. 



I walked beneath the stars one night, 
And watched them as they glittered bright, 

Far in the distant bine ; 

And thonght, as on I bent my way, 

Night sometimes brings more cheer than day. 

A voice said : ' ' This is trne ! ' ' 

The l)reeze was gentle, fresh and cool. 

Caressed my face, danced o'er the pool, 
And kissed the woodland flowers. 

It sped the night-birds on their wing. 

It helped them fly, and helped them sing 
Away the golden honrs. 

The Crescent of the sky was out, 
And sailed along her wonted route 

With dignity and grace. 

She smiled on Nature, smiled on me, 
Smiled on the ancient, stalwart tree 

Where was my try sting place. 



THE CBRYSALIS 47 



GLADNESS. 



Day breaks, and o'er the eastern hills 

The little sunbeams stray 
Along the merry, babbling rills, 

And kiss them as they play. 

The flowers, slumbering in the vales. 
Awaking from their dreams. 

Bow gently to the passing gales. 
And bathe in dew-born streams. 

The joyous lark, with music fills 

The fragrant morning air. 
And soars above the sun-lit hills 

That stand eternal there. 

And so in this good world of ours, 

We may in gladness dwell. 
If we will, like the birds and flowers, 

Learn Nature's lessons well. 



48 TEE CRRYHALIS 



EASTER. 



The bells of Easter are ringing, 
The birds of Easter are singing, 
The flowers of Easter are clinging 

Around the hearts of men; 
Are ringing, singing and clinging 

Within the hearts of men. 
The angels of Easter are winging 
Their way from Heaven, l^ringing 

Gladness to all again ; 
And Easter lilies are springing 

Where thorns and thistles have been. 



The large officiousness of small officials would be 
almost piteous w^ere it not so ludicrous. 

Just watch poor AVillie Wimple strut ; 

He has a place wherein he can 

Lord it over another man, 
And he's a wondrous wonder, but — 

With all his faults we love him still ; 
He 's not as bad as w^e may think. 
For Willie has to eat and drink. 

And needs his job to pay the bill. 



THE CHUYSALIS 



BABY HAS COME. 



Baby has come ! 
Let all the guests look bland ; 
And to attention stand, 
For a monarch's in the land; 

Baby has come. 

Baby has come ! 
Put all the books away, 
Prepare to let them stay, 
Till he has had his say ; 

Baby has come. 

Baby has come ! 
Cease from all conversation, 
Except ejaculation 
Of perfect adoration ; 

Baby has come. 

Baby has come ! 
Let angels fold their wings, 
While mamma softly sings — 
A sight, methinks, for kings ; 

Baby is asleep. 



50 



THE CHBYSALIH 




LITTLE MAY 



THE CHRYSALIS 



LITTLE MAY. 



A little blue-eyed girl of seven, 
Approached ine on the avenue ; 

(She looked a creature just from Heaven), 
And asked, ''Please, may I speak to you?' 

I stroked her on her curly head, 

And answered, ''Certainly, my dear." 
She tip-toed to my ear and said, 
"I want to cross the street, but fear, 

"That should I try it all alone, 

I might be trampled on, you see. 
For since my darling mamma's gone, 
There's no one now to care for me." 

I asked, "Where has she gone, sweet child?" 

She answered me — this tot of seven — 
With eyes that swam in tears, yet smiled, 
"My mamma? Why she's gone to Heaven. 

' ' She went a long, long time ago ; 
But just before she went away, 
She called her May (that's me, you know), 
And said I, too, should come some day. 

"My mamma, she was good to me. 
And always called me Little Love. 
But as she talked, she seemed to see 
Some friends who callcMl to her above. 



52 TEE CHRYSALIS 



'0, I remember, just as well, 

She pointed upward to the skies; 

And then a silence round us fell, 
And mannna gently closed her eyes. 

'She never spoke to me again; 

Then some one carried me away. 
And told me she was free from pain, 

And that she'd come for me some day. 

'But no one yet has come for me, 
And I have often wondered why; 

For mamma surely said that she 
Would come for me whenever I 

'Got lonely, and should want to come 
To l)e with her, no more to part ; 

And that she'd never leave me home, 
But press me always to her heart." 

The tiny miss looked up and sighed, 

As thus she told her tale of woe. 
And then, impulsively, she cried : 
"Don't leave me, sir, 0, please don't go. 

She'd said enough. I could no more 
Have left that child than I could fly. 

I led her to a cottage door 

That oj)ened on a street hard by. 

It was a gloomy place enough ; 

And they who had her in their care, 
Were kind, perhaps, albeit rough. 

And most repellent in their air. 



THE CHRYSALIS 53 



They told me they were very poor, 

And that they scarcely could provide 

A livelihood, nor could insure 
A proper home for her heside. 

I asked those people then and there, 
If they woukl give the chiUl to me. 

They said, "The Lord has heard our prayer. 
Take her, kind sir, we hoth agree." 

Tlien round my neck May wound her arms, 
And seemed content to ne'er depart. 

Since then she's wove ten thousand charms 
Around my very inmost heart. 

And as the days go rolling by, 

I love this Little May of mine 
So much her every little sigh 

Seems like a voice of the Divine. 

I often take her by the hand, 

And lead her through the parks and lanes ; 
And oft as 'neath the stars we stand. 

We hear, or think we hear, sweet strains 

Of music floating from the spheres 
That swing in distant fields of space ; 

And gazing upward, thi'ough our tears, 
We think we see her mamnm's face. 

And then she says she wants to rest ; 

And T am quick to take the hint. 
I fold her tightly to my breast, 

And on hei* lips a kiss iin]n'int. 



54 TBE CHBYSALIS 



I've read in ancient books somewhere. 
That angels walked the earth of yore ; 

But thought that Heaven would never share 
Her angels with us mortals more. 

But as I watch this fragile flower 

Of purity and innocence, 
I cannot help but see each hour, 

The gracious ways of Providence. 

And if I may be pardoned here 
I'll speak this little maxim true: 

If you would have the angels near, 
Receive them when they come to you. 

I mean to lead my Little May, 

That came to me when she was seven. 

Along life's pure and perfect way. 
To join her mamma up in Heaven. 



All men are witnesses of Nature, and she unfolds 
her panorama to every beholder; and he sees most 
who can best read her manifold inscriptions. A wise 
man is delighted with her story, and will be a faithful 
witness of what he sees and hears ; but the fool turns 
critic, will not be instructed, and is, therefore, en- 
gulfed in his own folly. 

"Whoever listens to the voice 
Of Nature's glorious strain. 

Will others and himself rejoice, 
In her eternal reign. 



TEE CHRYSALIS 



A SONG OF THE SOUTH. 



To the dear land of the South — 

Where the mockingbirds sing sweetest, 
Where the white magnolias blossom. 

And the maidens are petitest. 
Where the white rose is the whitest, 

And the lilue skies are the bluest, 
And the men are always gallant 

And fair women's hearts are truest — 
I returned from many wanderings, 

Through the snow fields of the North, 
To pass my days in pleasure 

In the land that gave me birth. 
Where I, with my sweet sisters, 

In childhood's happy days, 
Strolled mid the fragrant orange groves 

Beneath their perfumed sprays. 

The pine trees sing the same sweet song 

They sang long years ago, 
Beside the laughing waters, where 

The cotton blossoms blow. 
The cottage on the hillside, 

Run o'er with clinging vine, 
Looks pleasant in the pale moonlight. 

And in the broad sunshine. 
But, the changes Time has wrought; 

When I last stood before 



56 TEE CHBYSALIS 



That friendly house when l)ut a boy, 

There met me at the door 
The smiling face and virgin heart 

Of gentle, blue-eyed May, 
Whose tender form now lies beneath 

A mound of rose-wreathed clay. 

I sought the spot, where rests in peace 

The girl I loved so well. 
And by the sacred mound, alone, 

Upon my knees I fell. 
Then suddenly there came to me 

A vision wondrous fair ; 
The girl I loved so long ago, 

In memory met me there. 
Methought she looked the same as when 

I last beheld her face ; 
Since then, the little church-yard there 

Has been my trysting place, 
Where oft, in stilly hours of night, 

Alone. I bend my way, 
To meet in memory's realm again 

My darling blue-eyed May. 



THE CnRYSALIS 



MEMORTAM— VIRGINIA. 

Seven and twenty years ago 

You opened first those wondrous eyes 
Upon the white Decein])er snow. 

0, dark-eyed beauty of the vale, 

When first I saw you in your teens, 

You were as blithesome as a gale 

That blows upon fair sylvan scenes. 

I saw you first one moon-lit night 
In Old Sylvania's vine-clad groves. 

You were a Paradisean light 

That lit me to the land of Loves. 

I followed you to the cool spring, 
Where you, with other girls had gone. 

They left to hear the night-birds sing. 
And you and I were there alone. * * 

Ah, yes, perhaps, we loved too well ; 

Our fond hearts were so intertwined 
To disenchant us from the spell. 

Envy and cruel Pate coml)ined. 

They drove us from each other when 
The parting was like death to me ; 

And what of joy I've seen since then 
Is but in nightly dreams of thee. 



58 TEE CTinY^ALIS 



The hand of death struck your fair form. 
And plucked it from the world for aye ; 

But your pure soul, so true, so warm, 
Soared up beyond the distant sky. 

In day-dreams, oft as in the night, 
I hold communion with that love. 

That g'ilds my darkest hours with light 
That streams from your liright eyes al:)Ove. 

0, angel of the upper spheres. 

All radiant with thy spotless charms, 

Immune from earth's unhappy tears, 
And free from all of earthly harms — 

Be thou my Star of Hope, my guide, 
To light me o'er the Stygian Sea, 

And lead me through the stormy tide 
To where all storms have ceased to be. 



TEE CHBYSALIS 59 



ALONE, YET NOT ALONE. 



I sat within a lonely place, 

And with my thoughts was all alone. 
I could not see one human face, 

Nor hear the voice of any one. 

But thoughts are persons ; and they came 
And helped me pass the hours away. 

They told me things that put to shame 
The history of each passing day. 

So in my loneliness I found 

That 1 could not (|uite lonely be, 

While such as they were grouped around, 
Contented to converse with me. 

They were arrayed in every form 
That mortal eye has ever seen. 

Their discourse my lone heart did charm 
To realms angelic and serene. 

They told me much that I had known 
For years, hut told them in such style, 

That as I sat with them alone, 
I could but at my ignorance smile. 

I wondered why I had not seen 
The splendid gems that lay around ; 

And questioned why the dusty screen 
Had not been levelled to the ground. 



GO THE CHEYSALIS 



But such an obtuse thing is man, 

And snch a slave to idols old, 
'Tis hard to keep him in the van 

Where ever should be found the bold. 

One in resplendent garments clad, 
Stood by my side, and said, "My son. 

Why look so worn, cast dowu, and sad, 
As though the world were all undone ? 

'Things are not wrong, they only seem 
To be; 'tis you, yourself, that's wrong. 

Shake off mad folly's mortal dream, 

And join the world's triumphant throng. 

Another came with smiling face. 

And took me by the hand and led 
Me to a most exalted place, 

Which when we reached all discord fled. 

She raised her hand, all spotless white, 
And said, "Behold the glorious day. 

Arrayed in pure, celestial light. 
To light the pilgrim on his way. 

'Whoever dwells upon this peak 
Of happiness and sweet content, 

Shall hear the tongues of angels speak — 
The angels God, Himself, hath sent." 

T listened, and there came such strains 

As made the very hills rejoice. 
They swept across the verdant plains 

That smiled to hear such golden voice. 



THE CHRYSALIS ol 



I heard the Avords and caught the notes, 
And fled from mental parsimony. 

Smce then, my spirit lives and floats 
Tn realms of sweetest harmony. 

The world is right, for God is right. 

The ills we see, do not exist 
In Heaven's clear, immortal light. 

But fade away in mortal mist. 

The real man, the God-made man, 
Is like his Maker, and must lie 

Immortal, pure, sublime and grand, 
And from all sin and discord free. 

The man who represents the race 
Of man immortal, man divine, 

Reflects the gooduess and the grace 
That from the Mind of Heaven shine. 

The very thought that points our hope 
Above the mists of matter here. 

Sustains us as we upward grope 

Our way to Life's unchanging sphere. 

We have for ages trod the way 

Of thorns and thistles and the mire; 

But night is giving place to day 

That glows with Truth's celestial fire. 

Disease and sin no more remain 
Beneath the burning of that light. 

Than shadows can themselves sustain 
When reft of substance in the night. 



62 TKE CHEYSALIS 



QUEEN OF ATALANTA. 



For years I roamed the world alone, 

In every land beneath the snn, 

And dropped at times Grief's bitter tear, 

Because I was so friendless here. 

Oft on the fair and fragrant fields 

Where roses bloom and slnmber steals 

All sadness from the wanderer's heart, 

In some sweet dream I wonld up-start 

To clasp an image that I'd seen, 

As fair as Atalanta's Qneen. 

I was alone, and friendless (jnite. 

But followed ever in the light 

That radiant shown from her dark eyes. 

As clear as Oriental skies. 

It does not matter where I go, 

Somehow, I always seem to know. 

Somewhere within the landscape fair. 

The form of Atalanta's there. 

About her pure ethereal form, 

There cling a halo and a charm, 

That free me from the time and place, 

Because I've looked on her fair face. 

Though tempests howl, and thunders roll. 

And rocked, as is the sea, my soul, 

When she descends upon the scene, 

All things become again serene. 

Sometimes Avhen clouds have darksome grown, 

And I am with myself alone, 

I looked beyond the Stygian night, 



THE CHEYkSALIS 63 



And see glad beams of roseate Hgbt, 

And floating on those shinnnering beams, 

A vision fair as midnight dreams 

Is reaching spotless hands to me, 

And I am from the darkness free. 

Such is the woman I adore ; 

A woman pure and saintly more 

Than all the angel hosts above — 

The only being that I love. 

Not all the Beauties of the Past, 

Not all their wit and grace enmassed, 

Compare with Atalanta's ([ueen, 

Whose name is writ these lines between. 



A poet once sang : 

''Let dogs delight to bark and bite, 
For God hath made them so. ' ' 

He omits to inform us, however, just what muse 
inspired him to such sentiments. I have often asked 
myself whether if dogs, when they fight, do so in imi- 
tation of men, or men, when they fight, do so in imi- 
tation of dogs ; for surely dogs, when they fight, are no 
more man-like, than men, when they fight, are dog-like. 

Most faithful, far, of brute-l)east friends 

The dog has proved to be ; 

In trying times he never sends 

A sul)stitute — not he ; 

But to the front himself he goes. 

And fights with you your bitterest foes. 



64 THE CEKYSALIS 



WINTER AND SPRING. 



A Prose Poem. 



Winter. 

When ancient Winter embarks npon his 
Ice-clad ship, moving with all sails spread, and 
Driven madly before the wild blasts of 
The North, challenging the Snn to meet him 
In open battle, then is a spectacle 
Of nature worthy to be witnessed b}^ 
The gods. The stately trees, all decked in verdant 
Foliage, disrol^e themselves before his 
Progress, and stand uncovered l)efore his 
Sovereign sway. Gay-feathered songsters hie 
Them southward, filling the air Avith thrilling 
Notes of hasty abdication. Still on and on 
Races the biting ship, spreading her spotless 
Carpet in her wake, until King Sol, as if ■ 
Exasperated by further encroachment. 
Rises in his might, surveys the progress 
Of his ancient rival, unfurls his golden 
Flag, waves his scintillating scepter, and 
Cries : Halt ! So far, but no farther. Then halts 
The grizzled monarch of the North, looks about 
Him, and retreats to a safer distance, 
Where he mounts his throne of eternal snow, 
And reigns in icy grandeur, till his appointed 
Time. Throughout his vast domains, all Nature 
Stands stark and stiff. The sighing trees, so lately 



TEE CHRYSALIS 65 

Robbed of their emerald ro])es, are draped with 
Chains of diamonds, that glitter in the 
Boreal light. And then more diamonds. 
And yet more, until they break and fall beneath 
Their alien robes. Not wealth of precious stones, 
They seem to say, but wealth of loving warmth. 
Is that for which we long. Not cliillnig winds. 
That bite like adder's stings, but gentle zephyrs, 
Blown hither from sun-kissed isles, wdll comfort us 
More than all the glittering diamonds 
That festoon themselves about the Arctic Throne. 
Stern Winter, with his reign of ice. 
Would drive the saints from Paradise. 

Spring. 

How different now! But yesterday, these 

Tall trees were shrouded in winding-sheets, as 

If for burial. Today, the warm blood courses 

Through their veins again, and they are rising 

Into life. It is their resurrection day. 

Warm winds, laden with the aroma of 

Tropic isles, have snapped their chains and kissed 

Them back to consciousness. Tiny leaves peep 

Out, and wave their little hands in soft acclaim. 

Unnumbered songsters flit from bough to bough. 

And hold high carnival on every hand. 

It is the Grand Opera of the woods. 

Buzzing bees, and butterflies of gold, slake 

Their thirst at the founts of new-})orn flowers. 

Sweet-scented violets lift their fresh lips 

To the passer-by, as if inviting 

A kiss of love. Great roses, blushing like 



6t) THE CHRYSALIS 



The cheeks of tender maidens, are only 
Less beautiful, because less instinct with life. 
Where yesterday, long serpentine-like paths 
Of ice wound their frigid coils down the barren 
Vales, clear babbling brooks, today sing on their 
Way to the sea. The Sun, smiling down from 
His throne in the heavens, seems to say : Sing on 
Sweet streams, and carry your notes of joy to 
The ends of the earth. Go, publish to the 
Whole world the nuptial feast of Nature. All 
Things are in love, and their kind shall be increased. 
The usurper has fled to his ancient 
Abode, and the Kingdom is restored to 
Its rightful lord. And this is Spring. All hail ! 
When gracious Spring, her gifts has given, 
The earth becomes a kind of Heaven. 



Centuries of example have not yet convinced the 
powers that be of the futility of punishment. Where 
one man has been reformed by punishment a thous- 
and have been reformed by mercy. Human nature 
rebels against coercion. It is not difficult to lead, but 
very difficult to drive, a man. Drive men and you will 
not easily gain your ends. Lead them and you will ac- 
complish wonders. Moses, Jesus, Mohammed, Luther, 
and others who have accomplished things in the 
world, were leaders, not drivers of men. 



THE CHBYSALIS 67 



RHYME AND REASON. 



Surround nie with good l)ooks and I am in the midst 
of heavenly guests. 



If you would have a secret kept, keep it. A thing 
once told is apt to be twice told. 



'Tis great wisdom to know that we do not know 
what others sometimes think we know. 



Great questions should not he estimated by the mo- 
tives of those who advocate them, but rather by the 
principles they involve. 



In applying for a position don't begin hy telling 
your prospective employer how much pull you have. 
Employers usually prefer a man who has push. 



If what I did yesterday seemed right and good when 
I did it, then I did well; but if today's experiences 
prove it otherwise I will undo all and do better still. 



If, when a man steals my purse, I lose my good 
temper, I am become a greater roliber than he. for he, 
indeed, has robbed me of earthly treasures, but I have 
robbed mvself of divine ones. 



Fine clothes are fine to l)ehold when they enfold 
a beautiful character, but wrap them about a dead 
man and they are the charnel house of loathsomeness. 



68 TEE CEBYSALIS 



A man has become pretty abject when he is com- 
pelled to bow to the salute of other men, but the man 
who exacts such servility of any human being is a 
greater wretch than he who is forced to give it. 



The proof of a man's godliness does not lie in 
what he professes to be, but in what he reall}^ is. Not 
in the way he urges other men to live, but in the way 
he lives himself. 



If a friend take a liberty with me it is a pleasantry, 
and shall be appreciated. If a stranger take the same 
liberty it is a familiarity and should be repulsed, while 
if an enemy do the same it is an insult, and should 
be — ignored. 



In the upward trend of events three things are 
hastening to become fixed among us, namely, woman 
suffrage, the abolition of the open saloon, and the dis- 
armament of all civilized nations. Come they must, 
and come they will. To him who can discern the 
signs of the times there is no escaping this conclusion. 



We should bear in mind that, going to prison does 
not degrade a man, it only publishes his degradation. 
The man, if guilty, has degraded himself before going 
there. There are, doubtless, thousands who have thus 
degraded themselves, but who have not yet, and, per- 
haps, never will, go to prison. But some time, some 
where, and in some way, their sins will find them 
out. The accounts of all men must be balanced. This 
is the law from which there is no final escape. 



Ill— SONGS OF THE SOUL 



THE CHRYSALIS 71 



MAXIMS. 



As man in Wisdom's ways advances, 
He learns to master circumstances. 

He runs not into pessimism, 
Because of adverse criticism. 

He shrinks not from the hardest knocks 
Hurled at him by the orthodox. 

He is too strong to be so weak, 
As base revenge to ever seek. 

Who long in Wisdom's path has trod, 
Will bend his knee to none, save God. 

Though humble, he is not abject. 
But stands with head and heart erect. 

At once too noble and too great 
To bow to Chance or yield to Fate. 

He is a stranger to defeat. 
Because a stranger to conceit. 



Nothing is holy, nothing true, 
That doth not Prejudice eschew. 



THE CHiiYSALIS 



LOOK AGAIN. 



While I sat within my den 

Thinking of the ways of men. 

Suddenly there came a thought, 

Suddenly and all unsought. 

Instructing me that if I would, 

I could always see some good 

In the very worst of men 

If I'd only look again. 

"When the man with shackled hand 

Looms before you, understand 

That, perhaps, if you had been 

In his place, and all unseen. 

You, too, might have dealt the blow 

That has caused his overthrow. 

Circumstances have to do 

With men's actions more than you 

Sometimes even dream or think, 

Causing deeds from which we shrink. 

When the captor's clanking chain 

Binds him, always look again. 

And remember, if you will, 

You l)ehold a brother still. 



TEE CH FYS A LIS 73 



SOLITUDE. 



I love the hour of solitude. 

That shuts me from the multitude. 

Just with myself to be alone, 

When earthly things too small have grown. 

'Tis in such hours as this I find 
Communion with the Higher Mind, 
And gain an access to the Heart 
Of which I am so small a part. 

The angels of the thought-world come 
And deign to make with me their home; 
Converse with me in language rare, 
That makes my life a Heaven here. 

I see what they can never see 
Who pass their time in city throngs ; 
Am free as they can never he. 
To sing the world's eternal songs. 



Some self-made men are only the more inglorious 
for their making. 

If you must make yourself, good sir, 
Be sure you make good work of it; 

And see thou always do prefer 

Strong manhood to a weakling's wit. 



74 THE CHRYSALIS 

THE HEART I LOVE. 



I love the heart of fortitude ; 

The heart of courage, strong and brave; 
That walks the path of rectitude, 

And spurns the trick of everj^ knave. 

I love the heart that is sincere; 

The heart on which we can depend; 
That scorns the coward's cringing fear: 

The heart that serves a noble end. 

I love the heart that's filled with hope; 

That never stops to moan and mope ; 
That sees beyond the darkest night. 

The coming of the morning light. 



The prisoner has l)ut one true friend- 
A friend, regardless of his crime; 

That helps him always to the end — 
We call him by the name of Time. 



THE CHRYSALIS 



SOCIAL SELFISHNESS. 



Have pity on the man who lives 

And spends his time in selfish ways 

Who never speaks, nor ever gives 
A kindly word throngh all his days. 

Go see yon hermit in his den, 
Observe his every selfish move ; 

He keeps apart from other men, 
Because for them he has no love. 

He thinks of them, but never tries 
To think of them as human brothers. 

And thus he spends his days, and dies. 
Without the joy of helping others. 

He thought of self, and self alone. 
And brooded o'er his cares and trials. 

And never heard the anxious groans 
Of others in their self-denials. 

He lives the best, who lives and hopes. 
And reaches out a helping hand 

To him who in the darkness gropes. 
In quest of life's eternal strand. 



76 THE CHBYSALIS 



IMAGINATION. 



0, divine Imagination, 
Winged spirit of vast creation, 
That fill'st all the earth, and sea, and sky. 
Though all unseen by mortal eye. 
We lift our song in praise to thee. 
Who dost alone our spirit free. 
Oftimes, when bowed beneath a weight 
Of mundane cares — man's cruel fate — 
Thou com'st, a messenger of peace, 
And givest us a sweet release. 
The poorest beggar of us all 
Can tread the gilded palace hall. 
And pay his court to (jueens and kings, 
Borne thither on thy gracious wings. 
The woodsman from his humble lodge. 
Can stroll into the Talma Haj, 
And hold high converse with the great. 
Who in its corridors have sate ; 
Or rising on the golden beams 
Of thy eternal, happy dreams. 
Can soar into the very skies. 
And stroll the streets of Paradise. 
Can visit planets, suns and stars, 
Or be a hero in the wars 
That rock the world with storm and strife. 
Giving cold death, and taking life. 
The starvling bard who craves for bread, 
Upon thy ample wings is led 
To taste of viands rare and sweet. 



THE CHRYSALIS 



Where he may eat his fill, and eat 

The choicest meat the workt affords — 

A guest of earth's most pompous lords. 

Great Milton, groping in the night, 

Upon Imagination's flight. 

Dropped down to Hell, flew up to Heaven, 

And to the world his song was given ; 

Uni'ivalled epic, awful, grand, 

That shall through all the ages stand, 

A monumental, classic tower 

To human genius, force and power. 

By thy assistance and thy aid. 

The rustic finds himself arrayed 

In silken stufits and costly gems. 

Fit for earth's royal diadems. 

The church devotee on the wing 

Soars up to wiiere the angels sing; 

The Musselman mounts up and flies 

To black-eyed maids of Paradise, 

The Redman roams upon thy beams 

To Happy Hunting-grounds, and dreams 

Of antelope and antlered deer. 

That fall before his well-aimed spear. 

Fond lovers in thy kind embrace. 

Stroll out to their sweet trysting place. 

And press soft hands, and heave soft sighs, 

While gazing into love-lit eyes. 

The prisoner, forgot, alone. 

Where friendship 's voice is never known, 

By thy assistance, quits his den. 

And breathes sweet Freedom's air again. 



TEE CHEYSALIS 



WASHINGTON. 



However great may be the hour of need, 
God will provide a master-hand to lead. 
Though clouds hang heavy overhead, and all 
The world seems doomed to a disastrous fall, 
Before the crash can come, someone appears, 
Who safely through the storm the good ship steers. 
Such was the urgent need when Washington 
Unsheathed his sword, baptized in Freedom 's sun. 
Through long and trying years he lent his hand. 
To build a country that should ever stand 
A monument to Freedom's holy cause. 
And rightly won the world's sincere applause. 
And now, when many years have passed away, 
The great Republic that he reared, today 
Stands forth, the giant empire of the West, 
With open arms to all who are oppressed. 
And nations yet unborn, shall rise to sing 
The praise of Washington, true Freedom's king! 



TEE CHEYSALIS 79 



DUALITY. 



How strange a thing is mortal man. 

Today he seems ahnost sublime. 
But what we cannot understand, 

Next day we find him steeped in crime. 

Today he's noble, great and grand. 

His character is firm and strong. 
But what we cannot understand, 

Next day he's sunk in shame and wrong. 

Today he's famed throughout the land, 
As one who wears an honored name, 

But what we cannot understand, 
Next day he's overwhelmed in shame. 

Today we find him in command 
Of other men, commanding well, 

But what we cannot understand, 
Next day he's in the pits of Hell. 

Today he wields a mighty hand. 

To do the most heroic thing, 
But what we cannot understand, 

Next day his hand's a serpent's sting. 

Some day, perhaps, when we are caught 
Above the soft and shifting sand, 

And have in wiser ways been taught ; 
Then we, perhaps, will understand. 



80 TEE CHRYSALIS 



EVIDENCES OF GOD. 



Amid the silent watches of the night. 
Or in the glow of noonday's streaming light, 
I hear the voice of God, and see His hand, 
As visibly as foot-prints on the sand. 
There is no tree that decks the wilderness, 
Bnt grows alone, His children here to bless. 

In every rose, whose fragrance fills the air, 
I see his loving-kindness smiling there. 
In every note the joyous song-birds make, 
'Tis made for our Creator's creatures' sake. 
On every tidal wave that sweeps the sea. 
His voice, above the din, speaks peace to me. 

In every word of kindness that I hear, 
'Tis His own voice that whispers in my ear. 
Sweet words of love, that "casteth out all fear 



THE CHl^YSALIS 81 



HEART OF HEAVEN. 



0, Heart of Heaven, breathe on me 
Thy fragrant l)reath of purity. 

Chasten my soul, and make of me, 
A freeman of eternity. 

0, Heart of Heaven, lead me ever, 
In the way that I should go. 

And may my very least endeavor 
From Thy love and wisdom flow. 

0, Heart of Heaven, take my heart, 
And make it of Thine own a part. 



MAUDE MINING. 



Where you are, brown-eyed Maude Mining, 
Sunbeams bright, are ])rightest shining. 

When your silvery voice is ringing, 
Sweetest song-l)irds all are singing. 

And wherever you are sitting. 
Golden butterflies are flitting. 

When you're in the wildwood roaming. 
Wood-nymphs hover in the gloaming. 



82 TBE CEBYSALIS 



When you're plucking flowers the while, 
Fairies gather round and smile. 

Birds and blossoms and the host 
Of the forest seem to boast 

Of your loveliness so rare, 
Strolling in the woodland there. 

When you're oil the lake canoeing, 
All the sea-gods go a-wooing. 

And when you're mth me, Maude Mining, 
All my clouds have silver lining. 



The experiences of men have l)een about the same 
since the world began. Some few rise above their 
fellows, like the peak of some towering mountain ; but 
even they are not without their peers. For every 
Homer, the world will produce a Shakespeare ; for 
every Plato, a Bacon or an Emerson ; for every De- 
mosthenes there arises a Cicero, and for every Judith 
a Charlotte Corday. For every Alexander a Napo- 
leon is found, and for every Deborah, a Jeanne d' 
Arc. Solomon seems to have spoken the universal 
truth when he said, "There is nothing new under the 



THE CHBYSALIS 83 



CONSCIOUSNESS. 



There is a Consciousness, we reck too little of, 
Would guide our every act, or small or great. 

That fain would lead us up from low to high resolve — 
Unknown alike, to Superstition, Chance and Fate. 

There is a Consciousness, vouchsafed to every man. 
Would blaze our path, the way that we should go ; 

And lead us — our good angel — by the hand. 

And fill our lives with wisdom we should know. 

This Consciousness, born with us from above. 
Is all of Right, of Life, of Heaven and Love. 

The above poem is considered by the Author as the 
best he has yet been able to do. 



84 THE CHRYSALIS 



THOUGHTS. 



The thoughts that 1 have thought today, 
Perhaps, are wise, and yet, they may 
Be each a vain, a worthless thought, 
That in this world must count for naught. 

0, Spirit of Eternal Right, 
My mind illumine with the light, 
That whatsoe'er I think or do. 
May to myself, at least, be true. 

If this be so, then I may hope. 
That in my vision's broadest scope, 
Some good for others I may find. 
Drawn from the Universal Mind. 

For unto others I would live. 
That unto others I may give. 
Somewhat that's holy, good and true. 
And thus, with them, myself renew. 

In serving others, I best serve 
That which is Right ; nor would I swerve 
From that high path of rectitude. 
To pander to the multitude. 

So let me live, 0, Lord ; and be 
My ever}^ thought and act for Thee. 



THE CHRYSALIS 85 



A VISITATION OF ANGELS. 



They came and stood around my bed. 

And as I slept they softly said: 
''Sleep sweetly on, and take thy rest, 

And may thy dreams be doubly blest." 

Their pure eyes gazing into mine, 

Shone like bright stars of the Divine. 

Their flowing locks of golden hair, 

Played loosely in the fragrant air. 

They smoothed my pillow, kissed my face. 

And filled my soul with Heavenly peace. 

My dreams were roseate as the flowers 

That blossom in the spring-time hours. 

Each gentle touch of some fair hand, 

Transported me to Fairyland. 

Their snowy robes, all spotless white. 

Were radiant with celestial light. 

The glorious group, so wondrous fair, 

Bent over me in holy prayer. 

Then spread their wings and softly flew^ 

Away into the ether blue. 
" 'Twas but a dream," the cynics say. 

0, Lord, send more such dreams, I pray. 



86 THE CEEYSALhS 



MOTHER. 



There is no other 
Name in all the Universe 
Which men so fondly do rehearse 

As that of Mother. 

When in our infancy, 
We rest upon her tender breast 
Like tiny birdlings in their nest, 

We feel her constancy. 

In childhood's golden gleams. 
We are permitted most to share 
Her tender love and gentle care — 

Source of our fondest dreams. 

And when we reach the years 
Of manhood's manly strength and might, 
Her love, like some celestial light, 

Smiles down our troubled tears. 

When every earthly friend 
Has turned from us in bitter scorn, 
And left us, lonely and forlorn. 

She loves us to the end. 



THE CM BY S ALLS 



WE MAY NOT KNOW. 



We may not know, 
When passing through a crowded street, 
That some of those we chance to meet, 

Have hearts bent low. 
And eyes that sometimes fill with tears, 
Because of circumstantial fears — 

We may not know. 

We may not know. 
When talking in a lighter vein, 
That other hearts are wrung with pain. 

That yet would glow, 
If we would lend a helping hand 
To lift them from the sinking sand — 

We may not know. 

But we may know. 
That when we do a kindly deed 
To sorrow-laden souls in need, 

Christ will bestow 
A gracious l)lessing, full and free. 
For "Ye have done it unto me" — 

Yes, we may know. 



THE CHRYSALIS 



YE STARS— AN INVOCATION. 



Ye glittering stars, that smile and glow 

Upon us mortals here below; 

Ye silent spectators of man, 

Since immemorial time began, 

Will ye not heed my earnest cry, 

And answer me from out the sky, 

And tell me when earth's race shall be 

From selfishness and sin made free? 

How long shall man be cursed by man? 

Tell me, I pray ye, if you can; 

Ye, who have watched our little earth. 

And known us from remotest birth. 

Can surely light us to the day, 

And guide us to a better way. 

Is not the time approaching near. 

When every one who dwelleth here 

Shall turn away from self, and be 

A worker for eternity ? 

For this we hope, for this we pray. 

Light us, ye stars, along the way. 



THE CHBYSALIS 8U 



NOBLE DEEDS. 



I would that I could take my pen, 
And paint a picture true to life, 

Of all the ways of mighty men 

Who fight and conquer in the strife. 

Some men there be who grandly fall 
While battling for the cause of right, 

And thus they answer to the call 
Of councils in the world of light. 

The lives of such men never fail, 
But do forevermore ascend 

To help the fait 'ring and the frail, 
To deeds that have a noble end. 

And when at last their flag is furled. 
And they are called beyond the sky, 

Their deeds remain to bless the world. 
For noble actions never die. 



90 



THI^J CHEYSALIS 



THE SPIRIT OF THE PRISONER 




"FIFTY-FIFTY" 

With acknowledgment to Hal Coffman 



THE CHRYSALIS 91 

THE PRISONER: HIS PAST, PRESENT 
AND FUTURE. 



The Prisoner. 

The prisoner, for anything we know to the contrary, 
is ahnost as old as the human race. According to the 
He])rew Scripture, the first man ever l)orn in thi.s 
w^orld, turned murderer. He slew his brother. In 
this respect, all other murderers resemble the first 
slayer ; for whosoever takes the life of a human l)eing, 
kills his brother. In the case of this first murderer, 
Jehovah, Himself, was constable, witness, prosecutor, 
judge and jury. And the manner in which He dis- 
posed of the case is worthy of note. He did not sen- 
tence the prisoner to be hanged ; He did not sentence 
him to life imprisonment. He placed a mark upon him 
—a mark which has not been effaced to this day— and 
he became an outcast, his own conscience maintain- 
ing his awful exile forever. Now, as then, this is the 
price of capital crime. Another prisoner we read of 
in the same Scriptures, Joseph by name, was, ac- 
cording to his own story, innocent. Modern pris- 
oners are not unlike him in this respect. According 
to their own stories, most of them, like Joseph, are 
innocent of crime for which they have been convicted 
and imprisoned. Fortunately for the prisoner, and, 
we believe, for society, a brighter day is dawning 
for him. First of all, the prisoner is a human being, 
and the world is beginning to recognize this fact. He 
has not always been so regarded, or at least he has not 
always been so treated. In former years, to be a 



92 THE CHEYSALIS 



prisoner, meant to be a sufferer of the most unspeak- 
able tortures. For every crime that he was adjudged- 
to have committed against society, society committed 
a thousand against him. Revenge, and not reform, 
seemed to be the sole aim of society against its de- 
linquents. To the everlasting shame of our civiliza- 
tion, this idea obtains somewhat today, but it is break- 
ing down and giving way — before a more enlightened 
sense of humanity, and a more comprehensive view of 
moral rights, even of a convict, upon the basis that he 
is still a human being. So that today, instead of 
brutalizing the prisoner, charitable men and women 
in more civilized centers of the world, are lending a 
hand to accomplish his reform by kind and merciful 
treatment, and to the credit of our more advanced 
prison officials, be it said, they are nobly and gener- 
ously co-operating, with the result that many penal 
institutions of today, are sanitariums for the cure of 
disease, rather than prisons for punishment of crime. 



His Past. 

Like most other persons, perhaps a little more so, 
the prisoner has a "Past." In many cases, it was 
just that which brought him to prison. The man who 
steals a million, if he has no "record" (and he usu- 
ally hasn't), will invariably get the minimum sen- 
tence; while the man who steals ten dollars, if he 
has a "record," will receive the maximum penalty. 
This may or may not be right ; but in either case, it is 
an incontrovertible fact. As to its equity or injustice, 
each man must form his own conclusion. For every 



THE CHETSALIS 93 



effect there is a cause, and for every man in Slate's 
prison, there exists somewhere a cause for him ])eing 
there. A wise physician, l)efore beginning treatment 
seeks to ascertain the cause underlying the trouble in 
hand ; which, if he can locate, he will endeavor to re- 
move, knowii.g Ihat if he can remove the cause, the 
effect will go as a consequence. 

Looking into the past of the average man in prison, 
I have discovered the environments which surrounded 
him were bad. The conditions under which he existed 
were not any too conducive to the development of 
strong, healthful moral character. It is all very well 
for a man who has never known what it is to be in 
want.; who has always enjoyed a good position, to 
boast that he would not steal ; l)ut the fact still re- 
mains an empty purse, and an empty stomach, are 
powerful incentives to obtaining money, if not by fair 
means, then by unfair ones. But, the critic will say : 
why should a man, in good health and sound mind, 
be reduced to such penury? We do not know. Per- 
haps drunkenness has caused it. Perhaps bad judg- 
ment in business matters, or a hasty temper, or an hon- 
est failure of a sincere effort ; but whatever the cause, 
the fact remains that a hungry man must eat, and a 
ragged man must have clothing. The critic will say : 
Then let such a man go to his friends. A wise plan 
enough, if he has any to turn to. But in this age 
of advanced civilization, the moneyless man, is usu- 
ally a friendless man. If you tell him to beg you tell 
him to break the law, for in our time it is considered 
a crime to beg ; and he who does so will be sent to 
jail if npprehended. What then shall he do? That 



94 THE CHRYSALIS 



question, like many others, is easier asked than an- 
swered. It is hard to say what he shall do ; but what 
he does do is every day giving its own answer in the 
criminal courts of the country. The majority of 
this class of men are, perhaps, more unfortunate than 
criminal. They are too weak to hold their own in 
the ceaseless battle of competition. This apology will 
sound absurd to those who are not thus afflicted ; but 
it is not far-fetched, and if weighed in the balance it 
will not be found wanting. No man knows what he 
will do in a crisis, until the crisis comes. "Boast not 
thyself against the morrow, for thou knowest not what 
a day may bring forth." 



His Present. 

Of the thousands who are today in State prisons, 
perhaps, ninety per cent are there for theft in some 
form. As will be seen this class constitute the vast 
majority of the men and women in prison. This great 
army of thieves is composed of two classes, namely, 
the big thieves and the little thieves. In point of num- 
ber, the latter greatly preponderate. As we have said 
in the preceding chapter, they are a class of beings, 
who are perhaps, more unfortunate than criminal. 
They are usually the victims of environments and sad 
conditions. It is true that man should master con- 
ditions, instead of allowing them to master him. But 
the distance between what a man should do and what 
he does do is full many a league. He has yielded to 
the temptation of necessity, and he is paying the 
penalty, and ])eing locked in a cell and doing a 



THE CEBYSALIS 95 



day 's hard labor is the least part of that penalty. The 
countless humiliations, needlessly heaped upon him, 
the gaze of curiosity of vulgar sight-seers, and many 
other like things, add gall to his already overflowing 
cup of bitter degradation. But while this is true, it 
is also true that, in many prisons, there are some op- 
portunities afforded for the mental and physical up- 
lift of the prisoner. The up-to-date prison of today 
is well equipped with wholesome literature; schools, 
in which illiterates are instructed in the elementary 
branches of learning; athletic exercises, ball games, 
moving pictures and w^ell-trained orchestras to fur- 
nish music for the inmates. These are all potent 
factors for good, and the j^risoner who really desires 
to improve himself can leave prison at the expiration 
of his sentence a better man than when he entered it. 
The provision made in most States, and in the United 
States Department of Justice, for parole, is a great 
benefit to those who are able to ([ualify. There has 
been some criticism of the parole law, or rather the 
application of it, that obtains in the Federal prisons 
of the country. For my part, I think it is accom- 
plishing about as much as it was ever intended to 
accomplish. 

Society does not look upon the man who out-wits his 
fellows, and takes their money, with the same aversion, 
that it does the man who out-mans them and takes 
it. Yet the man who sits at his desk, in a luxuriously 
appointed office, and uses superior brain forces to al)- 
tain the earnings of his fellow-beings without giving 
them value received, is far less deserving of the mercy 
of the court than the man who enters a l)usiness house 



9fi THE CHJRYSALIS 



and loots its money vault. Both are a menace to so- 
ciety, ])nt the latter is less dangerous than the former. 
The latter is often driven to the deed by the pangs of 
hunger, while the other is but following out his cold- 
])looded ''greed for gain." Yet, he is the type of 
thief who invariably gets the minimum sentence when 
convicted, and gets a parole as soon as he becomes eli- 
gible. As may well be imagined, such bold discrim- 
ination and partialities have anything but a salutary 
effect upon the great rank and file of prisoners, and 
the w^onder lies not in the fact that they complain 
much, but rather that they do not complain more. 
However, I am of the opinion that the "Present" of 
the prisoner in any well ordered prison, is not as bad 
as many well meaning people imagine, and that he 
can, if he will benefit by his experience. The real 
battle which he has to fight, is not so much in the pres- 
ent as in the future. When the big gates of the prison 
swing ajar, and allow him to walk forth, a free man, 
then is the time when his real trouble begins. Of 
this phase of the ({uestion, we will write in the follow- 
ing chapter. 



His Future. 

The future of the prisoner is a road hedged in with 
thorns. He goes out into the free world to begin the 
"struggle for existence," with the "scarlet letter" 
conspicuous upon his breast. If he goes back to his 
home, every one knows of his disgrace, and he is ever 
conscious of their knowledge. It is a fault of human 
beings that most of us forget what we ought to re- 



THE CHRYSALIS 



97 




UNCLE >SAM TO SOCIETY — "What will you do with h 



98 THE CEHYSALIS 



member, and remember what we ought to forget. A 
man's own friends will, as a rule, talk of his mis- 
takes to others, and if he be an ex-convict, it is one 
of the first things to be said of him in public con- 
versation. If a stranger in town chances to mention 
his name, and expresses a favorable opinion of him, 
he will be sure to hear something like the following: 
"Yes, Mr. Blank is a very fine man. He is pros- 
perous in business, a good neighbor, but he served a 
term in the State 's prison. ' ' That is, if the man with 
whom the stranger is talking, happens to be a friend 
of Mr. Blank's; but if he happens to be an enemy, 
then what the stranger will hear about him will be so 
acrimonious and scurrilous that my pen refuses to 
record it. The prisoner, knowing all of this, and 
much more, must be a brave man to bear up under it, 
and forge ahead to success. Some of them do suc- 
ceed, however, but many fall by the wayside. The 
public looks upon a convict pretty much in the same 
w^ay that it looks upon a wild animal. When once the 
wild animal is safely caged, people are disposed to 
show it some mercy, and even kindness. But turn it 
out of the cage and at once they arm themselves 
against it. If they cannot recapture it, they will at 
least shun it, and have no dealings with it. If this is 
true in regard to the wild animal, it is almost equally 
true in regard to the ex-convict. While he is in pris- 
on, he is preached to, prayed for, given holiday din- 
ners, and the like; but the moment he is discharged 
from prison, the dear public arm themselves against 
him. Many avenues of business are closed to him, 
and he is constantly under surveillance. Even those 



THE CHBYSALIS 90 



who seem to be real friends have little, or no, con- 
fidence in him, and will not recommend him to any 
one who needs help, unless he is willing to be labeled 
ex-convict in advance. As a consequence, if the ex- 
convict be at all sensitive, he hesitates to accept a 
position under such conditions. But to this dark 
picture there is a bright spot — not very large, indeed, 
but large enough to be seen — and that is the actual 
existence of a few real and disinterested friends, who 
reach out to him a helping hand to lift him and place 
him on the solid rock of rehabilitation. Such people 
cannot be too much praised. The writer knows one 
such person ; he has heard of others. The one he 
knows, a lady of great refinement, and affluent cir- 
circumstances, has given up all of her time to the work 
of uplifting, cheering and furnishing practical assis- 
tance to discharged prisoners. She visits them while 
they are yet in prison, talks to them face to face, and 
encourages them to look on the bright side of life. No 
prisoner is too low for her to try to lift up, no man 
is too bad to elicit sympathy from her. She does not 
give them gospels, and tracts, and ghostly advice ; she 
gives them real money to aid them in securing employ- 
ment, and secures positions for many of them herself. 
She is an emissary of Heaven, a real angel upoji 
earth. By seeing her example, others are becoming 
interested, and I have no doubt the time is not dis- 
tant, when she will have many worthy disciples. And 
so, notwithstanding the many and powerful obstacles 
to overcome, I am convinced that the prisoner who will, 
can succeed, and re-establish himself in the world. 



100 TEE CHHYSALIS 



PHILOSOPHICAL PARAGRAPHS. 



OPINION. 



Opinions and theories are of value only to the ex- 
tent that they can be demonstrated. Without being 
able to make good their claims, they are as ludicrous 
as jewels in a swine's snout. 



OF TWO EVILS. 

Of the two evils, the fanatic in favor of religion is 
to be preferred to the fanatic against it. While both 
are intolerable boors, the one, wdth all his boorishness, 
would inculcate piety, while the other sows blasphemy 
and mockery. 



ARTISTS. 



Every man who does one thing well is an artist, and 
readily finds in any other man who can do as much 
(though it be an entirely different line), a feeling of 
true sympathy. All art is symmetry, and symmetry 
is harmony, and harmony is Heaven itself. 



A GOOD SENTIMENT. 

It was a noble sentiment of the Emperor Tao 
Kwang, and one which the kings and rulers of Chris- 
tendom would do well to emulate, when being urged 
to legalize the opium traffic, he said, "I can never 
consent to derive an income from the vices of my sub- 
jects." 



THE CHRYSALIS 101 



OBSERVATION. 



Show me a man who is a close observer, and I wdll 
show you a well-informed man, and of liberal mind; 
and as his years continue his attainments accumulate 
and he becomes a living example of the fact that the 
achievements of the individual show the possibilities 
of the manv. 



LITTLENESS. 

Littleness will not long be kept hidden. The an- 
chor required to keep it under is so frail as to not be 
able to stand much buffeting of the waves, and is ere 
long parted from its burden, which, because of its 
lightness, mil rise to the surface, to be seen of all men. 



HEREDITY. 

Every person is a distinction from all other per- 
sons. The traditional law of heredity will not bear 
close observation, nor stand the test of science. We 
are more the creatures of environment than we are 
of heredity. Emerson, with his customary good sense, 
observes that, '^We resemble our contemporaries more 
than we do our progenitors. ' ' 



DISCOURAGING, YET ENCOURAGING. 

One of the most discouraging features of our civi- 
lization is, that we are yet far from being civilized. 
If the humanity and inhumanity of the average man 



102 THE CHBYSALIS 



could be measured by weight, which side of the bal- 
ances, think you, would tip the beam? And yet this 
is encouraging, for a century ago the question would 
have been superfluous. 



SUSPICIOUSNESS. 

While there are many persons whose words and 
actions cause us to suspect their veracity and question 
their sincerity, yet we can not help thinking, that the 
man who is always suspicious of others, will himself 
bear watching. It is a trait common to most men to 
estimate others by themselves. It is not surprising, 
therefore, that a man who does not himself scruple at 
falsehood should be incredulous of the honesty of 
others. 



CONVERSATION. 

Conversation is one of the most precious faculties of 
man; but before engaging in it, endeavor to know 
yourself. If you are unable to converse with men, 
wdthout indulging in sarcastic disputation, then avoid 
it. If you are unwilling to respect the opinions of 
others, how can you expect them to respect your own ? 
Good conversation exalts a man, but when it degen- 
erates into insinuation and innuendo, it is of no ad- 
vantage, and had better be left off altogether. 



THE CHBYSALIS 103 



RHYME AND REASON. 



There is no bad but hath its counter-balance in 
good, and the good usually overbalances the bad. 



The scorn of the ignoble is a compliment, but the 
scorn of the just inflicts a wound difficult to heal. 



The man behind us, worries us too little ; the man 
in front of us, worries us too much. So much for 
human selfishness and envv. 



"Which, think you, is the greater sinner, he who 
out-mans his fellow, and takes his money, or he who 
out- wits him, and takes it? 



When a man asks you for information, tell him 
what you know, but spare him from hearing what you 
don't know. He knows that already. 



It is a noticeable fact that the man who steals for 
gain usually gets off with a lighter sentence than the 
man who steals because of necessity. 



Love is the only religion. Whoever really loves is 
a son of God. It is the source of all life, the fountain 
of all truth, and the mainspring of all right action. 



The genius pays the price of being isolated from 
other men, but he sees things which the vulgar can 
never see, and communes with beings unknown to the 
common herd. 



106 THE CHETSALIS 



I have rarely known a man, who, when given au- 
tocratic power, will not abuse it. When the average 
man becomes absolute master of other men, it is usu- 
ally woe to the other men. 



To cultivate a kindly feeling toward all creatures 
should be the aim of all men. The reward for such 
service is great. Others are made better, and our- 
selves evolved Godward. 



Many people mean well, l)ut act wrong. This 
arises from a want of. tact or proper judgment. We 
should cultivate a tender regard for such, and en- 
deavor by kindness, to lead them into a better way. 



Self-centered men know not how to sacrifice the 
least personal desire for the well-being of others; but 
they will not hesitate to sacrifice the well-being of 
others for the least whine of their o\^ai. Beware, I 
say, of such a man. 



"What is a good figure without brains?" asked 
the dwarfish cynic of the stately girl by his side. 
''Indeed," she replied, ''I know of but one thing 
worse." ''What is that?" he queried. "A poor 
figure without brains," she answered. 



When we put men in prison, they should be put 
there because they can not be trusted with freedom, 
not because of retaliation and a desire for revenge. 
The individual or government who stoops to retalia- 
tion need never hope to reform the sinner till they 
first reform themselves. 



THE CEBYSALIS 105 



Pity the man who allows his ears to be used as 
public receptacles for the scandal of a community. 



If he is to be called a pessimist who faithfully de- 
scribes conditions, what are the conditions to be 
called? 



There are multitudes of men only too willing to 
serve the Church, if the Church, in turn, will allow 
them to oppress humanity. 



Diplomacy is the art of saying disagreeable things 
pleasantly — a sort of covering the point of the thorn 
with velvet, as it were. 



It usually happens that he who is most timid in 
minor things, is the most daring and intrepid of men 
in matters of great moment. ' 



When a man tells you he doesn't like to be flat- 
tered, it is just his way of calling himself a liar with- 
out using the shorter and uglier word. 



If we are to judge by quantity, Emerson wrote 
very little; but if quality is to be the criterion, he 
wrote more than any man since Plato. 



104 THE CHEYSALIS 



Man was not made to suffer, but to enjoy. The 
fact that he has an instinctive desire for the ideal goes 
far towards establishing this assertion. Instinct is a 
kind of memory or knowledge of the Divine realities, 
l)ringing to our mind what we thought we had forgot. 



When a man surrenders himself to the doctrines and 
methods of another, to that extent that he will not 
dare to have an opinion of his own, if that opinion 
should differ from those of his master, then has he 
surrendered all claims to right manhood and forfeited 
his individuality. 



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